[early Tuesday morning]
Get off your f’in phone, [tech]. It’s 330 in the morning.
I need to get out of here asap. Cannot stand this for another two hours.
And I did leave an hour early.
[tonight] One-handed iPhone typing. Mr X is as loud as he’s ever been tonight. I want to leave duct tape on his bed. I have to put the volume on my iTunes up higher than I’m sure is good for my ears to partially block him our.
Tech who was on phone at 330 Tuesday morning is off tonight.
There’s always something.
Six months on nocturnal dialysis. There is no hesitation when I say this… I hate this. Lack of peace. Lack of privacy. Feeling lousy after I come off, so I either go back to sleep and miss part of the workday, or I make it into work and feel horrible.
Now that my lone dono possibility fell apart, I’m faces with the prospect of YEARS more of this. And the months just fly by. Six months of nothing to show for in my life. With six of seven days containing either the begining or end of a dialysis session, almost every day is tainted by this crap.
No relief in sight.
Believe it or not, I do experience brief flashes of optimism. They are always swiftly extinguished. Any sort of traction seems impossible.
Shut up, Mr X!
Pushed earplugs in better; that helps a little.
Just put my blanket over my head. Feel sufficiently isolate now, but it gets uncomfortably warm very quickly.
I am quite discouraged.
What else is new?
